You are a middle-manager in a large white-collar organization. Your CEO is a very cautious, conservative man. Although his unispired and sterile speeches are a source of humor among the workers, his political power is much feared. His pod of second tier managers and advisors are generally purged every three or four years. You are considered a third tier player, but you could easily be bumped upstairs at any time.

 

One day your job duties require you to pay a visit to the seldom seen lower basement of your office building. At first you think you are alone in the cavernous maze of crates and boxes, but you become aware of a voice. A singing voice, and it sounds like ... Elvis Presley. No kidding.

As you home in on the sound, you can hear:

"Girl, girl, girl
You gonna set me on fire
My brain is flaming
I don't know which way to go"

Creeping around a group of large crates, you discover your CEO in an Elvis suit. He has the wig, the cape, the sequins, the belt buckle the size of your head, the shades. The works. He's singing "Burning Love."

"I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love."

You stand for a minute in ope-mouthed awe, then realize your immediate supervisor is crouched in front of you. He's concentrating on the videorecorder as he tapes the CEO in performance. You inadvertently back away and knock over a small box, drawing the attention of your boss. He is not pleased. His face is red and he clenches his teeth in an effort to contain his fury, "Get OUT of here!!"

You return to your desk, shaken and disoriented. 30 minutes later your CEO walks by and greets you as if nothing had happened. He is back to his boring self. A few minutes later your supervisor shows up. He wants to see you in his office.

And this is what he says, jabbing your chest as he pokes his finger with each word, "If you EVER breathe a word of this event to ANYONE, you are FINISHED, FINISHED!" You are too frazzled to ask for a definition of "finished."

What would your next step be?